


dog days of summer

by wolver



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-2020 NHL Season, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolver/pseuds/wolver
Summary: panic on the brain, world has gone insanethings are starting to get heavy, mmi can't help but think i haven't felt this waysince i asked you to go steady.TK and Patty quarantine at the cabin.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 19
Kudos: 314





	dog days of summer

**Author's Note:**

> some mentions covid and quarantining, in case that's not your jam.
> 
> do not own, etc.  
> lyrics in the summary are from level of concern by twenty one pilots.

"So, the thing is. There's only one bed." 

Two steps into the cabin and TK throws down the fucking gauntlet because typical, _typical_ TK witholding important information? Shocker. TK stands there, with Nolan's bag still hefted over his shoulder, and looks at him expectantly, like he's ready for Nolan to cut and run.

"You only telling me this now?" TK doesn't even blink. This feels like a test, of sorts. "Whatever. I kick back."

TK grunts, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Whatever," he mumbles back as he tosses Nolan's bag on the lone bed that really does not look big enough for two full-size hockey players, even a short one like TK. Nolan really tries not to imagine how this is going to work. "Hungry?"

"I could eat."

Two steps and TK now stands in the kitchen. The single room cabin is roomy enough for one person, but add a second into the mix? Plus TK's dogs. That's when things start getting tight. They're going to be living in each other's back pocket, literally, for the unforeseeable future. It's not the first time he's lived with TK, nor the first time he's spent tight quarters with him, but this already feels a lot more intimate.

Nolan drifts closer as TK rummages around in the fridge. His snapback sits crooked on his head, backwards, and Nolan stares at the dirty stitchwork. Maybe Nolan hadn't known what he was getting into, but TK? TK had known and-- _and fucking offered_.

It's nearing three in the afternoon but TK fries them up a big plate of scrambled eggs with vegetables and turkey bacon ( _because I'm thinking about your health, Patso_ ). They fill their plates and sit outside on the porch. TK idly rocks the swing with a soft creak. There isn't a lot of conversation except _bacon's too crispy_ and _make your damn own next time_ and _nope, you will if I ask_ and TK flaps a hand dismissively in his direction.

They're both lagging from the flight out of Philly this morning, a day after their season had officially been put on pause. Two weeks after they played their last game. Where the whole world has been put on hold because of some virus that's spreading like a wildfire, forcing them to quarantine for god knows how long.

Nolan rubs his face before he lets his head tip back, yawning wide. He forces his eyes to open wide and he stares up at the roof of the porch. The day is catching up with him, his energy draining fast.

"Tired?" Nolan grunts, noncommittal. "Yeah. You're welcome to try out the bed. See if it's, y'know, to your high standards and all."

"High-- oh, fuck off. What about you?"

"I'll be okay." TK stretches his arms above his head and his back pops. He looks every bit as tired as Nolan feels. "Wouldn't be the first time I've fallen asleep out here."

"Bud, you might as fucking well join me. Gimme the full experience."

TK shoots him a searching look, but it's short-lived. He blinks and it's gone. "Mm'kay, c'mon."

The bed, as expected, really is not big enough for the both of them to fit comfortably. It's been awhile since Nolan's slept in the same bed with someone else and, go figure, the last person was probably TK because Nolan doesn't have a life outside TK and hockey anymore. Their elbows knock together as they try to get comfortable. They get in a half-assed shoving match -- Nolan doesn't even know who starts it -- until TK grumbles at him to stay the fuck still and throws an arm across Nolan's chest. The weight is firm and grounding and Nolan fights the heaviness long enough to ask, "Sure I'd share the bed with you, were you?" His voice is barely a mumble.

"Knew you would," TK mumbles back. He sounds confident, self-assured.

There's a moment where Nolan's hyper-aware of everything TK -- from the sound of his breathing, to the warmth he's radiating, his fucking smell (a whiff of three day old cologne and sour sweat because TK hasn't showered in days and god forbid Nolan doesn't even _hate_ it). He gets one last thought before he's pulled under: _what the hell is that even supposed to mean, Trav_ ; maybe Nolan hasn't thought this through, but he's certain TK has, every last detail.

It's still dark out when Nolan wakes again and he's unsure why he's awake. TK hasn't moved -- his arm is a warm weight across Nolan's chest and he's snoring softly, lost to the world. There's just enough light filtering through the curtain that Nolan can make out his vague form: from the darker shadow of his tattoo disappearing under the sleeve of his t-shirt, down the solid line of his side, lean and deceptively strong, to the sheet resting on his hip. Nolan forces himself to look away and he rubs at his eyes. 

Might be a migraine -- certainly not a new occurrence for him these days, but his head feels clear, his mind alert. That worry, though, will always hover just out of reach for him until his dying fucking day, probably.

Could also be the jetlag -- and given the current situation that probably makes the most sense.

Either way there's no sleep in sight so Nolan gets up, careful not to disturb TK. He grabs a hoodie that's been thrown carelessly over a chair, where the material stretches tight across his chest and shoulders. Nolan's sure there's either a tiny number 11 stitched into the fabric or a familiar hunting brand plastered across the front. He doesn't look, just walks to the kitchen to grab a drink before he slips outside with the dogs. They disappear off into the dark yard while Nolan takes a seat on the swing.

It's a nice night -- the air is cool, but not too cool, seeping in through his hoodie. It'll be summer soon and Nolan's looking forward to the warm sunshine and spending evenings by the fire with the crickets and mosquitos. He looks out over the dark yard, seeing nothing except the faint outline of some trees. The dogs are lost among the shadows, their collars quietly jingling as they move about. The night is otherwise silent.

Feels like a whole different world up here. Simpler.

Eventually there's some movement inside. The screen door creaks when TK swings it open. "Need to oil that, god," he mumbles to himself and yawns wide enough that his jaw cracks. He drops down next to Nolan, jostling the swing.

"Hey," Nolan mumbles.

"Mm'hi," TK mumbles back and steals a sip of orange juice. He's already crowding Nolan's space, his head finding Nolan's shoulder. "Already found the OJ, eh." 

"You're just predictable."

"Ain't wrong there, except-- except you're predictable too, Nolsy."

Nolan grunts. "Yeah, whatever."

Soon the dogs reappear and curl up right there on their feet. Not exactly the most comfortable, but neither of them move their feet away. They slip into a comfortable silence, at least until one of the dogs sneezes on Nolan's leg and Nolan grumbles under his breath.

TK snickers, says, "It feels weird not to have hockey in the near future."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Nolan can seriously feel TK's wince, for fuck's sake. "I didn't mean--"

"--Shit, sorry, I--"

"No, shut _up_." Nolan claps a hand over TK's mouth, then removes it just as fast when TK licks him. Fucking gross asshole. Rolling his eyes, Nolan wipes his hand on TK's hoodie. "Fuck off. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant I understand." He taps his index finger against the glass. "That's dumb, isn't it?"

"Stop. You're dumb." TK presses his cheek harder against Nolan's shoulder, briefly. "I wish I was able to understand better. Not only the pain, 'cause I've been there 'hoo-boy have I, but that uncertainty. I've never felt like my ability to play was in jeopardy."

Nolan stares at his lap and blurts, "I don't want you to understand."

"Yeah. But I want to 'cause it's you, and like, at the same time I don't want to understand either because I want to play. What do they call it? Catch uh, 28? So barring some really fucking unfortunate accident--" TK knocks of his own skull. "I'm never going to understand."

"Catch-22," Nolan mumbles to himself. He hates this fucking subject, hates the way it makes him feel borderline unhinged and wild and not okay, so he changes it, "I'm guessing they're not going to restart the season anytime soon."

It's such an obvious cop-out, but TK goes with it easily. "'Cause we're quarantining? Yeah, I'm guessing not. This shit's fucked up, bud."

"Fucking weird."

"Some alternative dimension crap," TK agrees.

TK angles his head so he can look up at Nolan with a grin, though Nolan can only meet his gaze briefly, still feeling exposed. Yet there's something intimate about the dim porch lighting that has Nolan able to whisper a few more secrets than he would have in the daylight. Nolan offers weakly, "Isn't it alternate dimension?"

"I stand by what I say."

Nolan snorts, maybe fond, maybe not. "Have you ever thought about where you'd be without hockey?" He doesn't really mean to ask -- another topic that he tries really hard not to think about.

"Not really. I can't really do anything other than hockey. Maybe fish. But hockey's what I was born, bred and corn-fed to do." Nolan slants him a look. "Probably a dumb question-- actually, I _know_ it's a dumb question so you can punch me, but do you?"

Nolan curls a hand in a loose fist and directs it towards TK's face. TK watches and true to his word, he remains still. But he probably expects that Nolan isn't serious -- because he's not: he just lightly taps TK between the eyes with a knuckle before letting his hand drop.

"Yeah," Nolan finally answers. "Still can't give you an answer, though."

It's a brief touch, a quick curl of TK's fingers around his and squeeze before they draw back, so quick that Nolan could have imagined it, except that it lingers long after it's gone, a phantom touch. Nolan's heart skips a beat, blood rushing loud in his ears.

Nolan considers himself pretty good at gauging someone's interest in him. A flirty smile, a touch to his arm, a heated look -- he knows what those mean; he knows the next step. He can usually tell when someone's looking for more, too, and that's where he usually drops out of the game. That's where it becomes complicated. It's the affection that always trips him up, the whole tango for two while we navigate our stupid budding feelings, because there's never really an end game. It just is and he's god awful at being affectionate. Too much? Too little? What if they're just being fucking friendly? 

Like TK. TK's a real fucking friendly guy, you know. 

Except-- except Nolan knows better than to think he does this with everyone. TK has wormed his way into Nolan's personal space and broken down most of his barriers with these small but consistent touches that make Nolan wonder. Especially this touch -- this one is new and it feels loaded with a million questions that Nolan's too afraid to ask.

If Nolan was better at this sort of thing, well, he'd probably do something dumb like hold TK's hand. But he doesn't know if that's okay or acceptable or what-- so he just sits there, quiet and still and thinking way too hard. Nolan doesn't want to have an existential crisis at three in the goddamn morning on TK's porch, but here he is: with TK probably dozing on his shoulder and the bad thoughts creeping in. Sometimes he wishes that it didn't have to be so hard -- that he had the capacity to handle things in a healthy manner.

At some point, maybe minutes, probably hours, years, TK sits up and stretches with a yawn. "M'sleep, 'kay?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Nolan feels glued to his spot.

TK stops at the door and Nolan won't look at him, can't look at him, but he can feel the eyes on him. There's a two count before TK says, "C'mon Marv, Ruby-roo. Let's go hog the bed."

Nolan blinks and watches the dogs scramble to follow, their movements sleepy and uncoordinated. He feels something loosen in his chest. "Fuck that." If that's a challenge to get Nolan back in bed-- or if that's TK being disgustingly perceptive again, well. It works, like it's so fucking easy, too. Nolan gets to his feet and follows. "That's my rightful spot on the bed."

A weird look crosses TK's face. "Is that my fucking hoodie?"

Nolan looks down, sees the familiar team logo and the 11 decal on the chest, plain as day. No way to deny that. He looks up, says, "No."

TK cackles and shuts the screen door in his face.

Later, Nolan wakes at a more respectable time -- and by more respectable he means, as in, the sun is up and it's not the buttcrack of dawn. However, when he looks at the clock he finds it's nearing noon. Nolan drops his head back on the pillow with a soft grunt, debating the pros and cons of being awake. Con: being awake, pro: well-- 

"Is that coffee?" Nolan asks and lifts his head. The bed's empty next to him, but TK's only just across the room in the kitchen. 

"Yeah, bud."

"Do I get delivery?" Nolan scrubs a hand over his face.

TK snorts and shoots him a look. "Hell no. Get your lazy ass up and get your own." 

The cabin feels full with two adults and two dogs, yet it doesn't feel crowded as he weaves through the dogs. Nolan finds a mug of coffee left sitting on the counter for him, just the way he likes it ( _do you want any coffee with that cream, Patso?_ ). He leans against the counter next to TK.

TK's hair is a tangled mess and there's still creases on his face from the pillow. He hasn't been awake for long either. What Nolan really notices, though, is that he looks relaxed in a way that Nolan hasn't seen in months. TK's shoulders had been slowly inching up and his face had a permanent blank look etched on it. His words become few and far between. The season had been challenging from what Nolan could gather, so it's not like he blames him, just. Nolan feels guilty too -- because as expected, TK had made Nolan's issues his own so not only was TK juggling hockey but he was also juggling Nolan's migraines. 

Not that Nolan considers himself any good at being a support system, but he knows that TK needed more than the whole shove-a-few-beers-at-him-and-he'll-sleep-it-off bullshit that the guys on the team think constitutes as support. He needed human contact, something that Nolan is horrible at and yet, yet somehow he's better than most of those morons. And without thinking Nolan reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind TK's ear. TK blinks at him.

Fuck.

"Don't give me that look," Nolan mutters into his coffee, his cheeks burning.

"You're staring at me, Patso." It's not the worst thing that TK could have called him out on. "Is there something on my face?"

"Yeah, your face."

TK cackles and leans in, pressing his nose hard against Nolan's cheek. Nolan can feel him smiling and tries to smother his own smile. "You like my face. It's a good face."

"It's all right. I've seen better."

"Take that back!" TK starts bodily pushing him across the kitchen, solid and sturdy and strong in ways that Nolan won't admit to. And when Nolan stumbles, nearly takes them both down to the floor with a lapful of hot coffee, well, they reluctantly call it a truce.

"TK."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Teeks."

"No."

"Trav, c'mon."

"No. I don't want to hear it. I'm not listening."

"I can't believe you don't have a TV." Nolan eyes him. TK has his arms crossed, sulking (it's all for show, of course; a ploy for attention), so Nolan pokes him right in the side that TK claims isn't ticklish. "Stop being a bitch."

TK barks out a soft laugh in surprise, his upper body instinctively hunching to protect himself. "Fuck you," he says, but there's no heat. He squirms, his weight drops sideways into the armrest of the couch and he kicks his feet up to rest across Nolan's lap.

"If you kick me in the fucking nuts--" Nolan mutters, circling a hand around the ankle that's closest to doing damage just in case -- a warning, though he's pretty sure that it falls flat on that account.

"Never on purpose," TK promises. "Look, okay. I just don't have a TV here. I never needed one."

Nolan grunts. "Says Mr. Let's-Play-Xbox-Every-Chance-He-Gets."

"I'm not _that_ bad."

"Sometimes."

TK shrugs. "Philly's boring." Which should be ironic because there's way more to do in Philly than either of their hometowns, but. Nolan gets it. He does. "Just, you know, I'm outside all the time when I'm here. It's my vacation from--" He flaps his hand vaguely. "Everything. But we can watch Netflix on your phone, though, yeah?"

"Yeah, cool." Nolan fishes out his phone and passes it over. He doesn't really remember when TK became the keeper of Netflix on Nolan's fucking phone, but here we fucking are. 

"C'mere." TK scoots to the edge of the couch. It leaves enough space behind him that Nolan assumes he's supposed to squeeze into. Maybe the couch is decent-sized, but they're both still big fucking boys here and it's going to be a tight fit.

Nolan feels frozen in place. "What?"

"Stop being fucking stupid, Nol, and cuddle me and watch From Dusk Till Dawn with me, c'mon."

That seems to do the trick because Nolan finds himself moving before his brain can supply a million reasons why this is such a bad idea. They're fallen asleep together on the couch before, and more than once have they curled up with the other in their sleep. It happens; it's not weird. Doing it on purpose? Now that's a little weird for Nolan -- he doesn't know what to do with his hands, barely even wants to breathe here. Then TK starts squirming, pushing back at Nolan with his shoulder enough that Nolan grumbles, lightly smacking the back of his head. "Quit fucking doing that."

"Hold on," TK complains back. He nearly ends up on his back, mostly lying on Nolan, but the position works because he can prop the phone on his chest so they both can see.

"Christ," Nolan mumbles and adjusts the throw pillow under his head.

" _Shhh_ ," TK hushes him as he starts the next episode. It makes Nolan roll his eyes, but he does rest a hand on TK's hip all the same.

Later TK says, "I wanna be a badass snake vampire."

"No."

"But--"

"No."

"Aw, Patty, you never let me have any fun."

"Nope," Nolan agrees dryly.

"I'll just do it when you're not looking."

Nolan throws the throw pillow at TK's face.

They take the boat out during the day to bask in the sunshine, sometimes fish, sometimes not. Every hour on the damn dot Nolan has to reapply sunscreen or else he's going to have a wicked burn -- he's already pinking up, his skin hot and sticky and clammy to the touch. TK, on the other hand, is tanning nicely like the asshole that he is, his skin sun-kissed and gleaming and Nolan isn't going to admit that he's jealous, but. He's jealous.

"I can do your back for you," TK says.

Nolan gives him a flat look. "I am not taking off my shirt."

"I know you don't want a farmer's tan, bud. C'mon, I'll do it too. Sunscreen my back and I'll sunscreen yours."

TK, the asshole, knows exactly the right buttons to press. Farmer's tans are stupid, look stupid, and ugh. The little voice inside Nolan's head reminds him that TK's hands will be on you and yep, his mind's a Grade-A traitor. "Give me the fucking sunscreen." Nolan snatches the offered bottle. It's hard not to stare when TK removes his shirt. The line of TK's shoulders is broad and strong and Nolan realizes that he might have made a mistake. The spike of heat that settles in the pit of Nolan's stomach can't be blamed all on the sun. He tries to right the sinking ship that's his stupid fucking feelings and says, "You don't even use sunscreen."

TK's shoulders shake with barely restrained laughter. "I'm burning alive, Patty. Can you hurry it up a bit?"

"Fuck off." 

Annoyed, Nolan squeezes a large glob right onto TK's shoulder. TK tenses in surprise and shoots Nolan a look back over his shoulder. This bodes well; Nolan really doesn't want to hear the next thing that comes out of TK's mouth. "Shot your shot, eh Patso?"

It's a good thing Nolan's face is already red from the sun. Nolan wants to curl up in a hole and disappear. This is such a bad idea. He stumbles over his words, manages in a frustrated mumble, "Fucking-- shut the fuck up or I'm throwing you overboard."

TK cackles, heading tipping back. Nolan smacks the back of his head to make him quit, but to no avail. His hair is dangerously close to getting new frosted white tips. Serves him right. "I know how hard it is to resist the TK-- _ow, motherfucker_." TK shies away, cussing under his breath when Nolan pinches right on the thick line of muscle.

"Stop whining, I barely touched you."

TK huffs, but he calms down.

It's hard not to map the way that TK's body feels under his touch -- the taut muscles of his shoulders, his biceps (because Nolan can't stop his hands from wandering), and he's tight and firm in all the right places, yet he still feels pliant, soft. Nolan's thoughts start to dangerously drift, where he just wants to press his nose against the warm skin and breathe and well, Nolan's a bit horrified at himself to be honest. Neither of them smell the best right now -- yet, the sunscreen has this whiff of coconut and Nolan just wants.

Neither of them mention how long Nolan takes.

"My chest too?"

"No," Nolan replies flatly. That's a rabbit hole he doesn't think he'll ever emerge from with his sanity intact.

TK smirks and takes the bottle back, swiping a few quick passes over his chest to hit all the main spots. It takes seconds. "Your turn, Patso."

"That was just a shameless ploy to get me to take off my shirt," Nolan grumbles as he yanks his shirt over his head, adjusts his crooked hat.

"Was it?" TK feigns being thoughtful. Nolan can see right through it. "You just might be onto something here."

The sun burns down hot and searing on Nolan and he feels squirmy; his body feels wavy, shivery -- similar to the gentle waves lapping at the sides of the boat. The first touch of TK's hand makes him jump and goosebumps race across his skin. TK's hand simply rests on his shoulder, warm and heavy.

"You 'kay there, Patty?" TK sounds amused.

"Fine," he tries to grumble back, but his voice sounds strained.

"Your hair is getting long," TK murmurs and Nolan doesn't jump when he feels TK's fingers in his hair but it's a very near thing. He closes his eyes and holds very still. Very few people touch his hair; Nolan tends to shy away from most touch unless he's fooling around with someone -- somehow, someone stroking their fingers through his hair feels more intimate than sex. Then again, the only person that ever really touches him in a nonsexual way on a consistent basis is TK, so, take that as you will. TK gathers the hair up and says, "Hold it so I don't get it all greasy."

Nolan snorts. "It's already greasy," he says but takes the hair, holding it off his shoulders.

The way TK touches him feels careful, almost reverent, and his fingers deftly smooth the sunscreen over his skin, thumbs pausing to dig into tense muscles. This is such a bad idea -- Nolan's cock is twitching and if he's not careful he's going to be half-mast in no time. Nolan lets out a slow breath and drops his chin to his chest and doesn't tell him to stop, just tries to remember how to breathe.

Without warning TK's hands slide forward, down over his pecs, rubbing the sunscreen into his chest. Nolan very carefully does not react when one of TK's thumbs swipes over his nipple, accidental or not. But the second time it happens, clearly not accidental, Nolan manages, "I got it from here." 

TK hovers, a few beats too long. There's a look on his face, something searching, maybe even something tender, and there's a moment where Nolan thinks maybe TK is going to kiss him. Surely he's reading it all wrong, but Nolan still feels wild with it, all of his nerve-endings on fire. The moment passes though, and TK gives him a small private smile as he draws back. Nolan doesn't know what to do with any of that -- he drops his hair and feels like he's floating off to sea.

They sit around the fire pit when the sun goes down, sometimes drinking beer, sometimes not. If they have a late dinner they'll bring it outside to eat, waving off the flies and mosquitoes and other stray bugs. This becomes their routine -- unless it's raining, and even then sometimes they stay outside, either getting soaked or sitting on the porch, watching the rain drip off the awning.

The night is clear tonight -- the first clear night after nearly two days of rain, where both of them had been climbing up the walls, to the point where they both said fuck it and took a walk in the rain anyway. But tonight is dry, a damp chill lingering in the air, and TK builds them a fire. They're drinking some local-ish brew, some craft beer with a hint of orange that TK bought because he knows Nolan likes it. Only one beer in and Nolan feels his tongue loose with words; his tolerance is shit these days.

Nolan mumbles, "I'm glad you invited me."

The light of the fire dances across TK's face -- his face is passive, but his eyes are sharp and focused on Nolan, watching him thoughtfully. His face betrays nothing. The silence between them stretches, stretches until TK finally says, "I'm glad you wanted to be stuck with my boring ass."

"Meh." Nolan makes a so-so gesture.

"Oh my god, you're the worst." TK's empty beer bottle bounces off Nolan's thigh.

"Fucker," Nolan says with a low laugh. "That hurt."

"Serves you right." TK stokes the fire before he sits back down in his lawn chair. It creaks under his weight. He stretches his legs out in front of him, shoots another look at Nolan. "You're actually the first person I've invited here that isn't family."

"None of your girls?"

" _Meh_ ," TK echoes and Nolan bites back a smile. "I wasn't exactly inspired with the warm fuzzies at the thought of sharing such a close space with them."

That's something Nolan wants to know more about, could hang off of every word, but he doesn't know how to ask. There's a part of him that already knows, Nolan thinks, what it means that he's here when they never were. Nolan sits with this new knowledge in his head and wonders what the next step is.

"Warm fuzzies," Nolan murmurs and hooks his ankle around TK's.

TK snorts and says, "That's the part you want to focus on, okay." He taps his foot against Nolan's and keeps it there.

This new knowledge keeps rolling around in his head, more and more insistent. He can't stop thinking about it. "I get it." He lets out a soft breath, eyes on the fire. "It's simple." There's a questioning noise from Travis. It takes Nolan a moment to continue, struggling with the words he wants to say, or how to say them. "With you."

There's a glance, but no response from Travis. He passes Nolan another beer, their fingers brushing.

It's not until after his third beer that TK talks again, "What people get is not what they want from me. They go in expecting this-- whatever I am in Philly, but that's not me." The light of the fire illuminates his features, deepening the creases of his frown. "Sometimes I hate the Philly me."

That hits too close to home for Nolan. He picks at the label on his bottle, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling slithering down his spine. "I know you struggle with the media," Nolan says slowly. "I know you learned to compensate for your anxiety."

"Big word," TK snipes. "But by talking too much and being ridiculous to distract everyone from the fact that I want to stab myself in the eye with my skate more than I want to stand in front of people and talk? Yeah. Look at TK, he's being typical TK, doesn't know when to shut the fuck up."

Nolan shakes his head and throws his empty bottle with the rest. The clatter grabs TK's attention, his gaze shifts from the bottles up to Nolan's face. "Except that's bullshit. They don't understand you at all."

TK smiles wryly. "And here I used to be shy as fuck, bud." He tips his head back to look up at the sky.

"I know. You still don't talk that much." TK shoots him a quick look. "You don't. I'm not pumping your tires here, I'm serious. I don't understand how people don't see the difference. This right here is you too. "

"Everyone wanted that Philly version of me more. The-- what'd you call it? The compensating one. That one is annoying."

"Sometimes." Nolan smiles slightly when TK flips him off. "I understand those expectations. I know what it feels like."

Their gazes meet for a long minute before Travis looks back at the fire. "Reckoned you did." He chugs the last of his beer and tosses the bottle to join the others. "Fuckin' Winnipeg Patty is so unreal. I haven't gotten to meet him yet."

"Yeah, you have," Nolan says softly and reaches out to hook his pinky around TK's. TK looks at their hands for a long pause -- probably only seconds but it feels like hours, and Nolan's holding his breath, counting the quick thumps of his heart. "It's all me," he murmurs. "Just like it's all you."

TK looks away but squeezes Nolan's pinky. "You don't expect all these things that I can't give. You let me be who I am, whether that's me talking your head off or not." Then TK belches and the heavy mood breaks. Nolan grins at him and TK grins back.

Nolan can't sleep. Surprise, fucking surprise.

There's good nights and bad nights -- the good nights happening with less frequency, until Nolan doesn't really remember the last time he slept straight through the night and then woke up okay. Sleep just seems to elude him at every turn, leaving him chasing a faint trail of relief down the empty alleyways and courtyards of his mind, never quite succeeding. 

It seems like it's going to be one of those nights. 

He's been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, tracing shapes in the dark. He doesn't know if he can even blame the alcohol because it happens either way, his hiatus that he tried from all booze literally changed nothing. If anything, the alcohol helps tonight which, yeah -- either the alcohol or his bed partner and neither seems like a possible long-term option, though--

Maybe.

More than anything Nolan just wishes he could go back to being the person he was before all the head issues started. This isn't the person he wants to be -- someone that has to tip fucking toe around everything in case it might trigger another migraine. It's so tiring, so mentally exhausting to always have to be on guard. Nolan finally fully understands the meaning of the word debilitating and fuck, he wishes he didn't. He lets out a slow breath and tries to shut his mind down. Something aches in his head, in his chest, growing bigger and bigger until his body is full of it, this unnamed and overwhelming pressure.

Next to him TK shifts. Their arms knock together, familiar at this point. "Wha'sa'matter," he slurs, his voice thick with sleep. How the hell does he know-- "Thinkin' too hard," TK adds, like he's reading Nolan's thoughts. It's a little unnerving, all in all.

Nolan wants to say _nothing, I'm fine, go back to sleep, don't worry_ \-- wants to not worry TK; mostly he wants nothing to be wrong in the first place, doesn't want to even be in this position. His mouth betrays him by asking, "What if I never get better?" It's easy to whisper into the dark that surrounds them. His mouth feels dry, full of cotton.

There's a slow inhale from TK, so loud in the silence, and the ache grows and grows inside Nolan's chest. The sheets rustle as TK closes the space between them and throws an arm securely across Nolan's middle, bumps his knees against Nolan's leg. "We'll manage whatever life throws at us, Nols. One step at a time, 'kay?"

"'Kay," he echoes in a small voice. He thinks about TK saying we and us and everything feels wobbly inside him. The ache lessens into something much more manageable. Nolan will admit it (to himself, here in the dark): he's tired of dealing with this alone. He tries to blink back threatening tears, but they spill over, silently tracking down his cheeks, collecting at the nape of his neck.

"I got you," TK murmurs. "I got you, Patty." His hold only loosens when Nolan shifts to face him and then tightens again, drawing their bodies close together. He gently shoves a thigh between Nolan's, lets his lips linger on Nolan's damp cheek, murmuring sweet nothings. TK runs his hand up and down Nolan's back, over and over, until Nolan finally falls asleep.

The days slowly march forward -- sometimes it feels agonizingly slow, but sometimes time feels like it's moving too quickly, like Nolan's going to blink and all this time he's spent with TK will be in the rearview, gone forever. He doesn't know what's going to happen after the quarantine, how long the stupid restrictions are even going to last, but he does hope that he comes out on the other side with TK. Quarantine should suck, he thinks, should be un-fucking-bearable, but Nolan stares at the way that TK's hair curls behind his ear and thinks he could live like this for a long time.

Nolan drifts closer, leaning against the kitchen counter. TK stops in the middle of making a sandwich to stare at him. "That's what you're wearing on the boat?" His voice sounds dazed. He looks dazed.

"Yep."

The mornings are still cool enough that Nolan wears a hoodie, TK's hoodie, because TK's never asked for it back and Nolan's not giving it back, claiming it until further notice (until, ideally, TK forgets all about it). But TK's looking at something else, anyway: Nolan's shorts. They're made from an old ragged pair of jeans, the holes in the knees so big they were nearly halfway to shorts already, and Nolan modified them to his standards -- maybe just a sliver too high up on the thigh for polite company, but he didn't have to worry about that here now did he?

"You wanted to see Winnipeg Patty," Nolan says dryly.

"Oh fuck," TK says, the words a prayer.

Heat simmers in the pit of Nolan's stomach every time TK sneaks a peak at him. He feels warm all over, a pleasant glow. Looking away, Nolan chews on his lip and tries not to think about TK's hands on his thighs, fails. Then TK's eyes are on him again and it's a vicious cycle.

Silence hangs between them, thick and expectant and so heavy, until Nolan says, "I still think you should get a TV."

TK makes an ugly noise. "You need to shut the fuck up, holy shit," TK says and jabs a butterknife threateningly in the air in Nolan's direction. Nolan smiles. "Put on your stupid Birkenstocks and let's fucking go. Ass."

It's a perfect day to be out on the water. The sun is bright, high in the sky, and the blue water is sparkling and calm, gently licking at the sides of the boat. It's only the two of them for miles, but it feels farther, spanning across the globe: only Nolan and TK exist, the last two people in the whole universe. The boat drifts and they drift with it, enveloped in a comfortable but charged silence.

Nolan's head is nearly empty of all the usual thoughts that take up residence there -- the worries for his future, for himself, the bitter self-loathing that swoops in, the relentless anxiety-- the list goes on and on. A few stray thoughts bounce around, pushing against his skull and demanding attention, but none of those are negative. Most are centered right here in this boat, right in the moment. 

Mostly there's TK's gaze, intense and hungry; Nolan's body feels hot from more than the sun.

"You do better when you're away from Philly."

Nolan startles, not expecting him to speak. "What?" He asks dumbly.

"I said, you do better when you're away from Philly." At Nolan's blank look he snorts and continues, "What, you think I don't pay attention? You're different when you're not under the hockey spotlight."

There's a soft breeze and Nolan tucks a stray hair behind his ear. He looks at TK, searching his face for-- he doesn't know what. "I'm not that different," Nolan mumbles, but inwardly he's starting to backtrack. This is becoming a familiar song and dance for him -- _you're different_ , and different never means anything good. 

The thing is-- this is TK and Nolan has a hard time trying to put two and two together to make four: he knows where and how TK grew up, Nolan hadn't been much different than him in the grand scheme of things either, but TK isn't _backwards_ like that. TK's never once batted an eyelash when Nolan does things his way -- whether it's the hair he grew out (that TK totally copied, don't even front) or his taste in music, which yeah, TK _complains_ but that's not the same. 

TK's an asshole, but he's not that type of asshole.

TK shoots him a withering look before rolling his eyes. Sometimes Nolan wonders if TK can read his thoughts. He wonders that a lot. TK grabs the sunscreen and there's a pause before he offers it to Nolan. "Sunburn on your thighs suck, dude." TK's eyes track his movements when Nolan swipes some on. "I see your dumb snaps, you know."

It takes Nolan a moment to understand the sentence. "I don't even remember half of what I sent you," he admits. "Hopefully they're PG."

"Anything rated higher and you'll definitely get a response," TK says with a leer. It makes Nolan flush, never more thankful for the lingering sunburn on his cheeks than he is right now. He adjusts his hat on his head, pushing his hair back while TK looks amused, seeing right through him. "Never really knew how to respond to any of it, though. You're good at fuckin' thirst traps, bud."

Nolan feels goosebumps pebble across his arms. "What the hell are you talking about?" He knows what TK is talking about. Maybe Nolan doesn't remember specifics, but he remembers why he sent them, every last one. It's stupid of him to not think TK would notice, too.

"You looked like you were having fun. Were you high all summer, Patso? Communing with the nature and the hippie bunnies?"

Nolan snorts and makes a so-so gesture. "Half of it."

"Right on."

Later, TK finishes securing the boat to the dock before he turns to Nolan. "In Philly you're so busy trying to live up to everyone's standards and I think you don't know how to be… you."

"I'm not anyone else," Nolan protests.

"Don't even bullshit me," TK says. "You're different in Philly. Even here you're different. All those snaps you sent me? Different. Hippie tree hugger acoustic guitar player -- I don't see any of that in Philly. But maybe you just didn't want me to see it." TK shakes his head, like he's shaking away the thoughts, his hair bouncing. His eyebrows are furrowed and Nolan wants to smooth them with his fingers. "I'm gonna gut these fish so we can eat, 'kay?"

TK walks away before Nolan can answer. This is one of those moments that Nolan still doesn't know how to navigate, when things start getting too complicated for him. But no one else had really been worth fighting for, either, so he's going to have to figure it the fuck out. Nolan takes in a deep breath and places one foot in front of the other and follows.

"I want you to see it," Nolan forces the words out. Watches the way that TK looks back over his shoulder, blinking in surprise. He's halfway through gutting the first fish, knife still in hand. "I want you to see all of that."

TK's lips quirk into a smile. "'Kay, cool," he says. "I want that too. Do you want to help me gut these, Patso?" 

"Yeah, okay," Nolan says, trying not to smile too wide.

TK takes his time as he slices open the final fish and he shoots Nolan a thoughtful look. His lips curve and Nolan knows he's up to something. He has that look, the look that Nolan's so familiar with, both fond and annoying as hell. TK waggles his eyebrows as he scoops out the guts with a flourish. "Is this doing anything for ya?"

"No."

"What if I," he lowers his voice, "talk like this while doing it?"

"Hell no." Nolan's fighting to keep a straight face; TK's goddamn ridiculous sometimes.

"What if I," he starts, but doesn't finish. Instead he takes a handful of the guts and tries to get them right up in Nolan's face, except Nolan's prepared for him to do something stupid like this so he easily ducks away, a laugh bubbling out of him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," he breathes and TK beams at him.

The sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. TK builds a fire anyway and they sit there with their dinner, shielding the food from the determined bugs. The fish is good -- TK isn't always an amazing cook (can be downright godawful), but he does know how to fry fish like a son of a bitch. Halfway through the meal Nolan feels a sudden surge of nausea climbing the back of his throat. It's strong enough that he has to spit his mouthful into a paper towel or risk vomiting everything back up.

TK, of course, notices immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Nolan says. "I found a bone." They both know that's a load of shit, but TK doesn't push the subject.

Nolan tries to wait it out, but it doesn't pass, merely lingers, a thick clench in his stomach. He's not going to be able to eat anymore. So when TK finishes, he wordlessly passes his plate to him. TK doesn't ask questions and finishes Nolan's food too.

"Sorry, it was good. I'm just nauseous." There's a slight pressure at his temples. Soon it'll grow, stronger and louder, until there's nothing but the sound of war drums in his head. Every time he tries to wish it away it never works.

"Hey, it's cool. We can go inside."

"You don't have to."

TK shrugs a shoulder. "I know I don't." They both hear the unspoken _but I want to_.

Nolan sighs, frustrated, and remains seated. There's so much that he suddenly wants to articulate but he doesn't know how. Words have never been his strong point, fucking no shit right, and he's never really been able to talk to anyone except his sisters and, well, TK. But this is a topic he doesn't want to talk to his sisters about, he doesn't want to make them worry more anymore than they already do. TK follows his lead and doesn't move, but Nolan can feel his eyes on him, curious, searching.

"I hate this shit," Nolan says in a low voice. TK doesn't respond but he does offer his hand and after a brief hesitation Nolan takes it. The touch helps ground him and he feels bold enough to admit, "I hate living with the worry that it's going to get worse again. It's fucking exhausting, Travis."

There's rustling next to him as TK gets up, letting their hands drop. But then TK's standing in front of him, reaching out with gentle hands on his elbows to help him up. He hugs Nolan tightly against his chest. "Is this okay?" He asks. "I always want to hug you, but I never know if it's okay."

"It's okay," Nolan whispers and drops his forehead to TK's shoulder, closing his eyes. He swallows back a swell of nausea that standing causes. The pressure in his head is more pronounced, too, turning into a dull thud, but he can't bring himself to pull away and do anything about it. One of TK's hands knocks his hat to the ground and fingers weave through Nolan's hair, cupping his head.

"I know I can never know how it feels, but you gotta know that I'd do anything to help shoulder the load, 'kay? I'd fucking-- I'd do anything, Patty, to take away your pain." His words are soft, but urgent. "I'd kick anyone's ass. I'd even kick your head's ass if that'd actually do anything to help."

"Great." Nolan's small laugh sounds a bit wet. "My head has an ass now, just what I wanted."

"Not what you were supposed to take from that, jerk."

"I don't deserve you." The words slip from his mouth, unbidden, and Nolan flushes at how small they make him feel, how vulnerable. 

There's a snort from TK. "Careful now, you're getting into the pity party territory," he says lightly. His hands slide up and down Nolan's back, soothingly. "I don't fucking deserve you either, you know. You're totally out of my league. You're on another stratosphere, babe."

"That's true," Nolan mumbles and tries not to think too hard about the pet name or the way his heart flips in result. TK laughs softly near his ear, a rush of warm breath that makes Nolan shiver despite the heat. They've hugged before, but this one feels different tonight. It feels bigger; it feels like _us_ instead of the usual TK and Patty. Nolan briefly presses his forehead against TK's cheek. "Let's go inside."

"Teeks," Nolan says and gently shakes TK's shoulder.

"Mmph, m'wake m'wake, wha'sup?" TK slurs out the words, shifting onto his side and up onto his elbow -- he's not the most coordinated with his limbs yet so Nolan leans back out of the crossfire. "S'goin' on?" He rubs a hand over his face, trying to chase away the sleep.

"Let's go watch the sunrise." The words sound soft as hell and Nolan's cheeks warm in embarrassment. There's a two-count that Nolan feels dumb for even asking, but then TK mumbles something that sounds like fuck yeah and throws his legs over the side of the bed. He disappears into the bathroom.

When TK walks back out he yawns, wide enough that his jaw cracks and loud enough to wake the dead. "Your head's good?" He asks and tosses a hoodie at Nolan -- Nolan's so startled by the question that the hoodie hits him square in the chest and falls to the floor.

"Oh," Nolan says dumbly. "Yeah." Somehow he'd forgotten all about ever having one, about falling asleep last evening with his head on TK's lap with TK's hands gentle in his hair. 

TK grins at him. "Good, you dumbshit."

The hoodie, he realizes, is another one of TK's -- a camo pullover he wears consistently. It smells like him, no surprise, and Nolan forces away the urge to tuck his nose into the fabric and breathe deeply. That might be weird or whatever because they aren't dating -- and like, he doesn't want to say they're not dating, even though they aren't, but they're not not dating (Nolan, at least, knows a fucking courtship when he sees one, o-fucking-kay?). It's just complicated and Nolan knows his ineptitude is showing.

They slip outside with the dogs on their heels. The dogs run off to explore the property while they head down to sit on the dock, legs dangling over the edge. The sky is still dark, but a pale light is threatening along the horizon and it won't be long until it spreads, overtaking the night. It's peaceful, quiet except for the occasional tinkle of the dog tags.

"Red sky in morning," Nolan starts.

"Sailors take warning," TK finishes with a grin. "Nerd."

"You're a fucking nerd."

They lazily shove at each other with no real purpose until TK catches Nolan's wrist, squeezing the delicate bones there, gentle yet firm. Nolan responds to the touch instantly, stilling. TK doesn't let go, even when Nolan lowers his hand to his lap. Every sweep of TK's thumb over the thin skin sends prickles of heat down Nolan's spine; the morning is cool, but his hoodie is almost too warm.

Staring straight ahead at the brightening horizon, Nolan blurts, "You should tell me something."

TK is still sleep-slow and distracted. "Wha'? Somethin' like what?"

"Anything. Something I don't know about you."

The sky gradually brightens, the pink deepening and bringing faint hues of orange and yellow now. TK taps his thumb against Nolan's wrist and looks thoughtful. He takes his time responding. "Something you don't know," he starts and shoots Nolan this look that makes his stomach knot up in anticipation and nerves. "I always had an ulterior motive when I made you smile. I know I always said it was a treat when you opened up, which is absolutely true, I'll have you know, but. Fuck, Nols, your smile makes me fucking weak."

The words hit Nolan right in the solar plexus, sabotaging him of his breath, of his brain function, and he sits there for a moment and gapes. "I--"

TK smiles, amused. "Not what you expected, eh?"

"No," Nolan manages. So much blood rushes to his face he's pretty sure he gets light-headed there for a second. "Jesus Christ, Travis." 

TK has the gall to look smug, the fucking bastard, like he can just say these kinds of things and-- And Nolan just wants to fucking kiss him. Something changes in TK's expression just then, it softens in a way that Nolan doesn't usually see, and he lets go of Nolan's wrist to cradle his cheek instead. "Nolan," he whispers into the space between them and Nolan holds his breath and waits. TK's thumb gently presses against the corner of Nolan's mouth. "I think about your smile all the fuckin' time."

Then TK's kissing him, slow and hesitant like he's soothing a spooked animal -- Nolan has enough of that quickly and deepens the kiss until it's a messy bruising kiss for dominance, teeth clicking. Trying to make up for years of missed opportunity.

"Inside," Nolan mumbles when they finally break apart for air.

"Bossy for someone that never brushed their teeth this morning," TK chirps back. He sounds winded and that's attractive as hell -- it gives Nolan a flash of a thought where TK's on his knees and struggling to breathe on Nolan's cock--

"Fuck," Nolan mutters, tries to get his head back in the game. "Didn't think this would be the time you decided to finally fucking kiss me, you ass." It's a weak comeback, for sure, and TK grins, well-aware. Nolan really wants to wipe that off his face with his fist-- or well, now he has a new option: his mouth. Choices, choices. Nolan leans in and bites at TK's mouth, soothing the sting with his tongue. 

TK pulls him to his feet, drawing him close. Nolan can feel TK's interest pressing snugly against his own. Hands are everywhere, and Nolan can't help the hitch in his breath when TK's hands find his ass and squeeze roughly. "Can I fuck you, Patty? Please say I can fuck you."

Nolan's voice is rough, throat dry, "Yeah. _Inside_." His cock pulses at another thought, though: TK shoving him back onto the uneven wood, climbing on top of him-- It takes every ounce of mental strength not to beg for that because Nolan can't make it that easy for TK, now can he? Hard no.

TK grabs his wrist and tugs him inside. The sunrise is forgotten about.

TK fucks him into the mattress, tangles his hands with Nolan's and pins them above his head. It leaves Nolan vulnerable to the brutal pace that TK sets, fucking him hard and relentless, so deep that Nolan's legs tremble and his breath stutters. All he can do is take what TK gives, his body so eager and responsive for the attention.

"Patty," TK gasps into his ear, the breath punched out of him. Nolan turns his head and finds TK's mouth and kisses him until they're both trembling in each other's arms.

It's daylight when Nolan opens his eyes again, the sunrise long gone. He finds TK already awake, his chin resting on Nolan's belly, and he's staring at him. A smile briefly crosses his lips, eyes bright. "Coffee?" TK asks. "Eggs?" When Nolan nods he kisses Nolan's belly before he rolls out of bed, still naked. Any doubt that the events earlier had really happened is completely erased. TK tugs on boxers before wandering out to the kitchen.

It takes Nolan longer to climb out of bed and TK pushes a cup of coffee towards him when he finally joins him in the kitchen. "Before you start overthinking everything I want to say that I definitely don't make my one night stands breakfast."

Nolan snorts. "Okay, bud."

TK makes a face at him, idly scratching at his dumb chin hairs. "Your tongue was down my throat, you're still gonna call me bud?"

"Yeah, probably."

TK stares at him for a moment before he cracks a smile. "And they say romance is dead."

" _I don't make my one night stands breakfast_ ," he recites verbatim, lifting his eyebrow. "I'm just giving what I get." A pause. "Who the fuck says that, anyway?"

"You sure are cranky for someone that got a good dicking," TK muses.

"Fucking generous, aren't we," Nolan bites back as TK sits a plate of eggs in front of him. "I'd say it was semi-decent at best--" There's a flash in TK's eyes, something competitive, something that never bodes well, and then he's squeezing in to straddle Nolan's lap right there at the table. The table scrapes loudly on the floor as TK bodily pushes it backwards, making room for himself.

"Shut the fuck up," TK says and grabs Nolan's face, kissing him. Nolan smiles against his mouth.

Their eggs get cold.

Later, TK says, "There was a snap where you were rollerblading. You had a fucking fannypack on."

He also says, "Another snap you had these tiny neon green shorts on, showin' off those dumb tats." A pause as they both glance down at Nolan's thighs, his shorts riding high again. TK hums, appreciative, as his fingers reach out to trace a tattoo. "I liked that one. I liked it a lot."

"What else did you like?"

"Fucking-- everything, Patso. Don't you see? Everything."

"I didn't--"

"I've been waiting for you to figure it out forever," TK says, exasperated. "I'm more obvious than a neon glowing sign that points at me and reads _Head Over Heels For Nolan Patrick_."

"I'm not good at this," Nolan says defensively. He pushes off the swing and moves to lean against the porch railing. Every inch of his body is hot from embarrassment and he tries to channel into annoyance. 

The swing creaks when TK gets up and Nolan feels hands cup his hips, letting himself be turned around. "C'mon, don't do that," TK murmurs. "M'not asking you to be good. Just want you, Pats. Want you how you are." Nolan looks down at TK through his lashes, watching the way that TK's mouth curves up in a smile that's only meant for Nolan. Tension eases from his shoulders, inch by inch -- whatever annoyance he had mustered has completely dissipated. "Fuckin' rainbow neon sign, Nols. With sparkles and flashing lights. I'm so gay for you, bud."

"Oh, we're back to bud, I see," Nolan mutters. TK tips his head back and laughs -- it's a good look on him; Nolan reaches up to trace his thumb down the line of TK's throat because he can do that now. "I'm pretty fucking gay to begin with," he admits. "I guess I'm a little gay for you."

"Aw, _sweetheart_ ," TK coos and yeah, Nolan should have expected that -- shot himself in the fucking foot here with that comment. "That has to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"God, I fucking hate you," Nolan says flatly, trying to keep his lips from twitching. "I take back everything." But then TK smiles again, so confident that it's utter bullshit (which, yeah, it is) that Nolan grabs his face and kisses him, letting TK crowd him up against the railing.

The day has been muggy and they hang close to the cabin, only drifting out towards the dock once the sun goes down. They sit there shirtless with their thighs touching, never far apart from the other. Nolan's eyes keep getting drawn to TK's strong thighs, barely visible in the low light, and his throat goes dry. He thinks about what happened the last time they were out here, thinks about how much he wants it to happen again.

"It's so hot," TK complains, lifting his hat to wipe away sweat that's been collecting. He's not the only one roasting -- Nolan's been sitting as still as possible, breathing slow and shallow, in his best attempts not to exist right now. It's not working: he feels a drop of sweat slither down his spine. "It's night. There's no damn sun!" 

"The moon's hot," Nolan replies, sensibly (or not so much). He looks up at the moon, then -- it's high in the sky, maybe midnight, maybe not. Despite the heat, and the bitching, TK leans against Nolan's side more. Their skin sticks together uncomfortably. Nolan's body hums with a simmering arousal. "We could swim."

"Nolan Patrick, you have the best ideas," TK says fervently. 

They strip off their clothes before they slip into the water. The water is warm, but it soothes their overheated skin all the same. Nolan shoves his wet hair away from his face just as TK decides to shake his own hair out, spraying water fucking everywhere. "You are worse than a dog," Nolan grumbles. It's hard to be annoyed though, when TK presses close, circling his arms around Nolan's neck, legs around his waist.

TK ignores him and asks, "Are you going to snap me?" 

"Huh?"

"You know." TK gestures vaguely. "Snapchat. Are you gonna snap me?"

"Who says I haven't already?"

TK inhales a quick breath and squirms against him. The bulk of his weight is pressed against Nolan's cock, probably on purpose, and it's delicious friction. "What'd you put up? Is it scandalous? Please tell me it's deliciously scandalous." Like this is the highlight of his fucking life here.

"Mm, it's a little scandalous," Nolan murmurs. "One's of that catfish you caught."

"Is it weird that I still find that really hot?"

"I hope it's not because of the fish," Nolan deadpans.

TK chuckles. "Nah, not the fish. You. And you putting me on your snaps. In your snaps? I don't know the proper and official Snapchat verb-age." Nolan snorts and shrugs -- who the fuck knows and who the fuck cares. "Listen-- hush you. I like starring in your snaps, 'kay? It's fuckin' hot."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a possessive motherfucker?"

"No. I haven't been until now. Look at you. How could I ever let something like this get away?" TK loosens his grip on Nolan, sliding off. He remains close, though, pressing a hand against Nolan's belly for a moment, fingers splaying wide. "I already told you how you're so far out of my league it isn't funny."

"Yeah," Nolan agrees, distracted by the hand that's creeping lower. TK's nails scratch gently through his happy trail before he fists Nolan's cock. Letting out a breath, Nolan rests his forehead against TK's cheek. "Fuck, Teeks."

TK coaxes him to full hardness and pauses to thumb at the head of Nolan's cock, pushing the foreskin back. His mouth never stops talking, "Can't wait to take you apart, Patty. Put you back together again with my mouth on you and my dick inside you." The touch is maddeningly slow and not quite enough. Nolan struggles to focus, trying to keep himself afloat and not shake apart at the seams.

"I'm going to fucking drown here," Nolan grits out. They should be doing this closer to the shore, but neither of them are making any effort to find better footing. What a way to go, though -- Nolan can't complain too much if he dies here and now, not with TK's hands on him like this. 

"No, you're not. C'mere, hold onto me. I got you."

"You better not fucking drown me," Nolan threatens, but he gingerly climbs on and let's TK hold his weight. It's a pretty precarious position, trusting TK enough to keep them afloat, but all that's forgotten when their cocks slide together, a pleasant friction that's eased by the water. Nolan's breath hitches and his thighs clamp harder on TK's hips. TK's free hand slips between them to fist at their cocks, squeezing and stroking. 

TK murmurs, "I got you. Fuck, you'd let me fuck you out here in public, wouldn't you, Pats? Where anyone could walk by and see us. See you taking my cock like a champ. Like you're made for me." It's highly unlikely anyone is going to just walk by right now, and out here, and Nolan fully means to argue that point for the sake of principle, but TK chooses that exact moment to rub his other thumb roughly along Nolan's crack. It catches on his rim and all Nolan can do is choke on a moan, his hips jerking against TK's, eager. "Yeah, thought so. You'd be so good for me, baby."

"You talk too much," Nolan grits out and fists a hand in TK's hair to keep his head still as he finds his mouth for a rough kiss. 

It's all way too much overstimulation -- TK keeps rubbing at his rim, over and over, putting the slightest bit of pressure and Nolan wants more, bucking back against TK's thumb and then forward again. It brings him to the edge embarrassingly fast and his body tenses as he shoots between them.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," TK says against his mouth, shuddering, and he's not far behind with his own release, cock pulsing against Nolan's. "Oh god." There's a moment where TK loses his grip on their surroundings and they dip dangerously low in the water. Nolan kicks at him until he regains his balance and then, with an annoyed look, Nolan spits a mouthful of water at TK's face.

TK tilts his head back and laughs. It's infectious and Nolan finds himself giggling against TK's shoulder. "Idiot," he manages, fondly.

"Maybe not my brightest idea," TK agrees.

It's not that strange that TK isn't in bed when Nolan wakes up -- it's not the usual, but it's not strange. What's strange is that he's not in the cabin at all and that Nolan finds him out in the yard kneeling over their fishing rods. He won't look up when Nolan approaches. Something is obviously wrong, but Nolan isn't going to push because he already has an inkling of what's wrong. Nolan stands there and lets his shadow cast over TK, shielding him from the sun.

It takes TK a few minutes to finally speak. "My agent called." He looks up and squints at Nolan. "Late summer start, probably. Lookin' more and more like we're goin' to have to live in a fuckin' hotel bubble for the next couple o' months." He looks less than pleased. Neither of them state the obvious, that the we does not actually include Nolan, but both are well aware of the fact -- at least, if the furrow of TK's brow is anything at all to go by.

Life has to rear its ugly fucking head again; Nolan resists the urge to sigh. The thing is-- Nolan knows they can't hide away at the cabin forever. Sooner or later the real world is going to catch back up and they're going to have to rejoin it as normal members of society. Nolan isn't exactly looking forward to that day even if he does miss hockey like a phantom limb right now.

Nolan kneels down and gives in to the urge to smooth his thumbs over the wrinkled brow. "Be waiting for you to get done, then," he murmurs and then, louder, "I bet I can catch a bigger catfish than you without all your stupid distractions, anyway."

TK scoffs. The heaviness of the moment loosens, though, along with the tense line of TK's shoulders. "You fuckin' wish, babe. You ain't ever gonna outfish the TK."

"Maybe not," Nolan agrees and leans in, meeting TK halfway for a kiss.

"So," TK says. "I was thinking about getting a TV for the cabin."

Nolan throws a pillow at his head. "Fucking finally, bud."


End file.
